It's been a half an hour since my son left the cabin and drove down the road that will lead him back home.  I could hear the leaves crunching and scattering, fading in and out around the curves of the trees.  I stood there until I could no longer see his hand waving out the window.  It felt like an eternity, every bit of me wanting to run after him.  My mind was scurrying, trying to find new words to make him stay.  But how do you calm a soul that wants to be somewhere else.

Not even new love, with all it's promises and sweetness, can quiet a heart that longs for what it left behind.  Nor the tears of a mother.   

He wasn't ready to take such a big leap into the unknown, to a place that he knew nothing of and that didn't know him.  He's gone back to everything familiar, to the only home he's known.  I understand.

It's like it was a dream. The last five weeks were a really good dream.

Mount Zion Presbyterian Church 1813  Sparta, GA.  We came across it last week while exploring with the kids. 


We pass each other with hands full of paintbrushes and various tools. We meet up and hand off mops and buckets.  Doorways are blocked with ladders, boxes of tile are laid out on floors, dust is everywhere, paint cans are everywhere, the kids are in charge of the front porch, I carry old sconces around and point out where they go, Chad follows behind me flipping pages on his to-do list. My mother is counting how many beds we need to buy, we all walk past the kitchen sink sitting on the floor, all of us wondering when we are getting a kitchen. 
There is a flurry of activity, all day, everyday, into the wee hours of the night....until our sleepy eyes can't take it anymore.  Company is coming next week, the kids are here and it's the first holiday with my mother in too many years.

Before we close up the house for the night, I walk from room to room, slightly dreaming about how they soon will be filled with laughter and warmth, with people that I love. All of us sharing a new home for the holidays.